(Scribbles in traffic while listening to more Tim Keller sermons...)
How would you finish this sentence:
God, I will obey if...
I never thought of myself as one of those "God indebtors", but I realized as I sat there in traffic for two hours that totally am.
God, I will refrain from casual sex/premarital sex if you promise me that there is an amazing husband somewhere in the world for me.
And while you're promising me that, do you mind maybe giving me a sign to tide me over for a while?
It's a results thing. If I go out and do things, I get instant results. They might not be good results, definitely aren't the best results, but they're predictable in that there will be results.
I could go out right now and find a guy to sleep with and let him flatter me as he believes he's doing all the work to seduce me, all while letting him believe that he's in control just so the flattery gets painted on a little thicker such that it might last longer... I'll get results. Without a doubt. I'll feel (temporarily) satisfied, (temporarily) confident and (temporarily) slightly more loved than I was before.
But by saying, "If I sleep with a guy to feel good now, while rejecting God's idea of sex, then I don't trust God and don't trust that His idea of sex is what's best for me," I'm essentially saying the same thing as, "God, I will refrain from casual sex/premarital sex if you promise me that there is an amazing husband somewhere in the world for me," except wording it like the former separates me from God and the latter tells it like it really is. What I mean is, in the first statement, while I do admit to a lack of trust in God, I don't admit what it would take for me to achieve it. And that's the real problem here.
It's one thing to acknowledge a shortcoming and it's another entirely to question the real motivation behind it.
I don't think there's a husband in the cards for me. At this point, I don't even see a relationship happening. But between growing up with sex being a nothing thing and it being all around me all the time and me swearing off relationships for the long term, the only thing left is casual sex. Flings. Abstinence is a four letter word. And it really is. I mean, I see God's point, but I also see where I am and my state of affairs is not good. I'm not the marrying type. Nor am I the abstaining type. I'm... the results type.
Matthew ch 7:
21 "Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22 On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ 23 And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’"
Tim Keller says being a Christian involves a gradual and inevitable change. And as in the passage above, we can go around helping others with their gradual and inevitable change, helping them to grow towards Christ, helping them to understand God and understand what this Christian thing is all about, but at the end of the day, we're merely vessels for others' change if we don't see that change occurring in our own lives.
Is it? Is Christianity changing your life? Or are you the same person you were a month ago? Or five years ago?
My growth comes and goes. I grow constantly. I strive for it and try really hard never to stay stagnant. But my growth in faith particularly isn't constant. I suppose any growth is a battle, but my faith is more of a battle than most other bits of learning and growing I experience, probably partly because it's the newest and therefore, I'm not as accustomed to incorporating faith-growing into my every day life. But at the same time, whenever I read pastors' tweets about how people in the Bible belt forget Jesus entirely for weeks and months at a time, even if they do go to church every Sunday, and I know that Jesus is a part of my every day, but it's a lazier part. It's kind of a heart part. You know? Instead of putting in the hours of Bible study I used to when I first started, along with hours and hours of sermon listening, I'm more likely to just listen to sermons and work on them for a while. They're like therapy, only with God and with more important purposes. I suppose if you're in a state of coasting, then yeah, you have to dive further into the texts, probably to find more layers of meaning to elevate your spiritual senses, but I'm not coasting. I'm rebuilding. And while I should be working on my textbook Jesus a little more than I am, I find myself working on the grace part of Jesus and the prayer part and most of all, the guidance part. I'm working on my listening.
I think my entire life, I've been guided, either by the Holy Spirit I misunderstand (still) or by my gut, but either way, I never listened and I got myself into terrible situations where the casualty was always me. And so I'm learning to listen. But it's hard to listen for something when you don't know what it's supposed to sound like. And at the same time, with the pull of the familiar, the comfortable, the physical and the easy, it's hard to stick with the unfamiliar, the uncomfortable and the obscure.
Sex is easy. Abstinence is uncomfortable. And it's easy to say that through abstinence would come the most growth, but I don't think that's true either. For me, through suffering comes the most growth, and if I abuse sex, it's bound to create suffering. That's not to validate my actions or anything, but just to point out that it's a difficult situation and not only that, but if I haven't figured it out yet and I mess up, I'm still growing. Growth is inevitable for me. I just have to make sure it's in the right direction in the end. Or, really, I have to make sure that I pray that God makes sure my growth is in the right direction in the end. I have to make sure to pray for God to know me. I think that'd be the worst thing- for me to be face to face with Jesus and Him tell me, "I never knew you." It's like I'd rather be judged and go to hell but have a little Jesus in my heart to get me through it than for me to get up there and be told I don't know Him at all. You know?
So I'm working on listening. And hopefully, out of that listening will come the trust with no strings attached. But I'm skeptical- just about the husband thing. I think that's my downfall, really. I just don't see how it'll work out for me, but that's the thing- I'm ok with not knowing how anything else in my life will work out, and I trust God for most of everything else (gotta leave room for future realizations), but for some reason, the husband thing is where I have a hard time letting go of the control.
I guess with healing, that might come. As the fear of ending up with another sociopath diminishes, maybe I won't feel such a strong pull to control that part of my path.
Maybe.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
On trust and arrogance...
Something Tim Keller said in a sermon (from a while ago) bothered me lately. Those of us who are naively blown away by the horrible nature of those around us are arrogant in that not only do we underestimate the horrible nature of humans, but we somehow also manage to count ourselves so exempt from it that that kind of horribleness is actually surprising.
If it is so hard for us to understand the completeness of God's love for us, why is it so easy to love certain people so naively? And if it's so hard for us to trust God, the same God who created us and knows us better than we know ourselves, why are we so quick to trust the broken people in our lives who are the least deserving of trust?
But then aren't we supposed to? Doesn't everybody deserve to be loved? Or do we not deserve anything at all? If human nature is really that horrible, how are we supposed to love each other? If we don't have an ounce of naivety or a glimmer of faith in humanity, where do we find ourselves within a community? Or within any relationship?
To fully understand the depravity of the human condition, wouldn't we become the world's greatest cynics?
So again, in my mind, there's a dichotomy that comes with the extremes. People are a certain way and as a result of that, the preachers of that particular society preach the opposite way, partly assuming nobody will ever get to the other side. We're supposed to try and end up somewhere in the middle, where we're ideally supposed to land, I guess. But I'm all or nothing girl and if you point me in a direction, I'll tell you what is at the end of that path.
It's like when I hear people from the south pleading for more sexual freedom. They believe that acquiring certain freedoms they don't have yet will solve all the ills of their society. But here in Quebec, we are the exact result of those freedoms acquired and we've got a whole new set of issues to face. Nobody expects to "get there from here" when they start their fight. Nobody who sees the greener grass on the other side of the fence expects to somehow end up living there.
But isn't that human nature- that desire for things to be better even though we have no idea what that actually means?
That's how I fit in community, whenever I actually do. I see the potential. I see the bags and boundaries people have and I hope that one day, they'll break through them and release their better, unhindered self. But then, they kind of prove Tim Keller's theory and make me feel utterly naive followed by the inevitable arrogance that comes as a result of the surprise that a human could turn away from growth and turn towards horrible, hurtful, deceitful things instead.
But if I think I'm a good person, or at least I think my intentions are generally good, then how is it wrong to hold other people to a standard of goodness that is me? Obviously, I'm not perfect and I have terrible parts of my person too, but if I know how hard I try to do things right, to be honest and to live with empathy, then why is it arrogant to assume I'm not the only one who achieves this particular standard, however high or low that is? That doesn't mean I think I'm all good- I'm still broken and selfish, but I don't think I could ever do to others what some have done to me, especially the ones whose intentions were terrible. You know what I mean?
I think at our most cynical points in life, we do take reassurance in a couple or a few of the people around us, as if just knowing they exist makes the world, and humanity in particular, less horrible. If we really did fully grasp the reality that is human brokenness, I'm not sure we'd get out of bed in the morning. I don't think we'd survive without the glimmer of hope we get from acts of kindness and unconditional love.
Sure, God is supposed to be enough, but if He is enough and this world is really that horrible, why would we stay here? Why would we endure this?
We are created in God's image so why would it be so terrible to look for godly traits in each other? Or worse, to expect them?
As bad as it sounds, I guess I'm lucky that my brokenness doesn't usually affect other people as much as it could. Most of my brokenness is self-destructive rather than projected. And while for me, there's no real difference there- brokenness is brokenness- I'm still glad that the emotional casualties of my life have been at the very least decreasing in number the more I grow.
That's all we can do, right? Grow? Grow in trust for God. Grow in love for God. Grow in love for each other?
And maybe I misunderstood Tim Keller's point. Maybe he didn't mean the worst of the worst of human beings catching the naive among us off guard, but the more simple every day broken people. Maybe he doesn't expect us to not be surprised when a best friend assaults us or a loved one turns out to be a complete sociopathic fraud. Maybe he just means the arguments and the misunderstandings and the tiny, almost insignificant betrayals.
Because I can't imagine being the kind of person who gets suddenly physically mauled by somebody close or gets a middle of the night phone call that is an absolute rape of the soul and isn't surprised. That kind of person, to me, is just broken beyond repair.
To understand the brokenness is one thing, but to expect the absolute worst all the time is something entirely different. And I just don't think that's the world perspective with which God wants us to live. So I must have misunderstood TK.
If it is so hard for us to understand the completeness of God's love for us, why is it so easy to love certain people so naively? And if it's so hard for us to trust God, the same God who created us and knows us better than we know ourselves, why are we so quick to trust the broken people in our lives who are the least deserving of trust?
But then aren't we supposed to? Doesn't everybody deserve to be loved? Or do we not deserve anything at all? If human nature is really that horrible, how are we supposed to love each other? If we don't have an ounce of naivety or a glimmer of faith in humanity, where do we find ourselves within a community? Or within any relationship?
To fully understand the depravity of the human condition, wouldn't we become the world's greatest cynics?
So again, in my mind, there's a dichotomy that comes with the extremes. People are a certain way and as a result of that, the preachers of that particular society preach the opposite way, partly assuming nobody will ever get to the other side. We're supposed to try and end up somewhere in the middle, where we're ideally supposed to land, I guess. But I'm all or nothing girl and if you point me in a direction, I'll tell you what is at the end of that path.
It's like when I hear people from the south pleading for more sexual freedom. They believe that acquiring certain freedoms they don't have yet will solve all the ills of their society. But here in Quebec, we are the exact result of those freedoms acquired and we've got a whole new set of issues to face. Nobody expects to "get there from here" when they start their fight. Nobody who sees the greener grass on the other side of the fence expects to somehow end up living there.
But isn't that human nature- that desire for things to be better even though we have no idea what that actually means?
That's how I fit in community, whenever I actually do. I see the potential. I see the bags and boundaries people have and I hope that one day, they'll break through them and release their better, unhindered self. But then, they kind of prove Tim Keller's theory and make me feel utterly naive followed by the inevitable arrogance that comes as a result of the surprise that a human could turn away from growth and turn towards horrible, hurtful, deceitful things instead.
But if I think I'm a good person, or at least I think my intentions are generally good, then how is it wrong to hold other people to a standard of goodness that is me? Obviously, I'm not perfect and I have terrible parts of my person too, but if I know how hard I try to do things right, to be honest and to live with empathy, then why is it arrogant to assume I'm not the only one who achieves this particular standard, however high or low that is? That doesn't mean I think I'm all good- I'm still broken and selfish, but I don't think I could ever do to others what some have done to me, especially the ones whose intentions were terrible. You know what I mean?
I think at our most cynical points in life, we do take reassurance in a couple or a few of the people around us, as if just knowing they exist makes the world, and humanity in particular, less horrible. If we really did fully grasp the reality that is human brokenness, I'm not sure we'd get out of bed in the morning. I don't think we'd survive without the glimmer of hope we get from acts of kindness and unconditional love.
Sure, God is supposed to be enough, but if He is enough and this world is really that horrible, why would we stay here? Why would we endure this?
We are created in God's image so why would it be so terrible to look for godly traits in each other? Or worse, to expect them?
As bad as it sounds, I guess I'm lucky that my brokenness doesn't usually affect other people as much as it could. Most of my brokenness is self-destructive rather than projected. And while for me, there's no real difference there- brokenness is brokenness- I'm still glad that the emotional casualties of my life have been at the very least decreasing in number the more I grow.
That's all we can do, right? Grow? Grow in trust for God. Grow in love for God. Grow in love for each other?
And maybe I misunderstood Tim Keller's point. Maybe he didn't mean the worst of the worst of human beings catching the naive among us off guard, but the more simple every day broken people. Maybe he doesn't expect us to not be surprised when a best friend assaults us or a loved one turns out to be a complete sociopathic fraud. Maybe he just means the arguments and the misunderstandings and the tiny, almost insignificant betrayals.
Because I can't imagine being the kind of person who gets suddenly physically mauled by somebody close or gets a middle of the night phone call that is an absolute rape of the soul and isn't surprised. That kind of person, to me, is just broken beyond repair.
To understand the brokenness is one thing, but to expect the absolute worst all the time is something entirely different. And I just don't think that's the world perspective with which God wants us to live. So I must have misunderstood TK.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
On Interpretation...
A little light reading before going to sleep...
Romans 14:
1 As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions. 2 One person believes he may eat anything, while the weak person eats only vegetables. 3 Let not the one who eats despise the one who abstains, and let not the one who abstains pass judgment on the one who eats, for God has welcomed him. 4 Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand.
I thought I understood this passage. It seems clear enough, right? He starts out by telling the recipients of the letter to welcome the weak. And then he explains how it goes both ways, how each side shouldn't judge the other, and assuming that the recipients are not the weak ones, verse four says, "Who are you...?" so I read that as telling the strong not to judge the weak because only God judges. Only God decides who is righteous and who isn't, if any of us are at all.
And then Romans 14 goes on to say:
5 One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. 6 The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the Lord and gives thanks to God. 7 For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. 8 For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. 9 For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.
So I took that as saying whatever we do, whether we do stuff or don't do stuff, whatever our reasons, as long as our heart is for God and as long as we live to honor God, then our lives are for God. Because Christ died for how our actions fail. Christ died because we never get the actions right. Christ died so having a heart for the Lord would be enough. He died so it is enough.
Like I said, I thought I understood the passage. It seemed pretty clear. But since I was too lazy to hold up my 4,000 page ESV study bible and my new toy is lighter, I decided to read it online, where the study part is more accessible in the right side bar... so I couldn't help but read it, even though I thought I understood the passage.
This explanation caught my eye:
"Rom. 14:4 This verse is likely directed to the weak. It is not their place as fellow servants to pass judgment on the strong. The strong stand or fall before God, and they will stand righteous before God on the last day because God will give them grace to keep them from falling away."
After reading it the way I did, the way I explained above, and then reading that... it just burned me up.
What happened to Matthew 5:5's “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth"? Or Colossians 3:12:
12 Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, 13 bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.
In that Romans passage above, I thought the strong and weak were just being contrasted. Some need more rules than others to feel like they know God. Some don't. But the idea is that both are trying to be good with God in their own way.
"Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind."
That's what bothers me about pastors relying on commentaries and analysis outside of their own grasp of the Bible: it seems possible that all this Bible study could be similar to a chain of laboratory research that has detrimental flaws in some of the steps. That's not to say commentaries aren't important. No, from what I know, they save a lot of time and provide important insight to better informed Christians like the sermons do for lesser informed Christians like me. They are important.
But the Bible is the Living Word. It's the Word of God. If you're a Christian, you supposedly believe that, because if you don't, then you don't believe what John said, and if you don't believe what John said, then how do you believe the rest of the Bible is true and if you don't believe the rest of the Bible is true, how do you believe ANY of the Bible is true?
And John said in chapter 1:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
Then again, maybe I've misread and misunderstood that too.
Probably.
But God loves us. God loves us individually and wholly. God wants a relationship with us. God wants us to worship Him and what that means is God wants us to live in the wholeness and spiritual completeness that is only in Him which, when we really begin to understand what that means, we have no choice but to talk about His awesomeness to those around us. Right? In a nutshell?
And so, the Word is God. And here is the Word communicating to us. Like, today, a random Tuesday (my favorite of the random days), God suggested I read before bed. Read what? Romans 14. So I did. I read it with an open heart and open mind, ready for God to say something to my soul. And He did. He provided me with a passage that says, "Live for Me. That's all I want. Don't worry about the p's and q's about it. Just Me. I'm the only thing that matters." And if you read this blog, or even my other blog sometimes, you'll know that I feel like a crap Christian. I don't fit in. And God pulled me aside before I went to sleep tonight, on a night when I read an email from a church telling its members (and other subscribers) to pray for a girl because since she can't stand church, she obviously hasn't found Jesus and we (the subscribers) should be worried about that. So God gave me Romans 14. And every day, the words on those pages are the same. They don't change. But every day, every time God shows them to us, they're different. They're alive.
If God is God, then He can get His word to say anything He wants it to.
And the stuff in the side bar?
It just kind of kills it. Yes, we should know the historical context. We should know what they were talking about and use that to help us interpret the text. Yes.
But we should also just read it sometimes. Just let it affect us. Just let God make the Living Word come alive for us and for us alone. Let God talk through the Word.
Reading the Bible isn't like a textbook for exactly that reason- it's a book you have to read with your heart, not just with your mind.
And yes, it's a risky endeavor because what if you read something a certain way and it's not a godly interpretation? Well, then like they say, it's only from God if it fits His message. You do have to know the message to determine the difference. So you have to do both.
But, when I read a "scholar's" interpretation that just rubs me as being blatantly self-righteous, I'm going to side with my heart.
*shrugs*
Romans 14:
1 As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions. 2 One person believes he may eat anything, while the weak person eats only vegetables. 3 Let not the one who eats despise the one who abstains, and let not the one who abstains pass judgment on the one who eats, for God has welcomed him. 4 Who are you to pass judgment on the servant of another? It is before his own master that he stands or falls. And he will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make him stand.
I thought I understood this passage. It seems clear enough, right? He starts out by telling the recipients of the letter to welcome the weak. And then he explains how it goes both ways, how each side shouldn't judge the other, and assuming that the recipients are not the weak ones, verse four says, "Who are you...?" so I read that as telling the strong not to judge the weak because only God judges. Only God decides who is righteous and who isn't, if any of us are at all.
And then Romans 14 goes on to say:
5 One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. 6 The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the Lord and gives thanks to God. 7 For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. 8 For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. 9 For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.
So I took that as saying whatever we do, whether we do stuff or don't do stuff, whatever our reasons, as long as our heart is for God and as long as we live to honor God, then our lives are for God. Because Christ died for how our actions fail. Christ died because we never get the actions right. Christ died so having a heart for the Lord would be enough. He died so it is enough.
Like I said, I thought I understood the passage. It seemed pretty clear. But since I was too lazy to hold up my 4,000 page ESV study bible and my new toy is lighter, I decided to read it online, where the study part is more accessible in the right side bar... so I couldn't help but read it, even though I thought I understood the passage.
This explanation caught my eye:
"Rom. 14:4 This verse is likely directed to the weak. It is not their place as fellow servants to pass judgment on the strong. The strong stand or fall before God, and they will stand righteous before God on the last day because God will give them grace to keep them from falling away."
After reading it the way I did, the way I explained above, and then reading that... it just burned me up.
What happened to Matthew 5:5's “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth"? Or Colossians 3:12:
12 Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, 13 bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.
In that Romans passage above, I thought the strong and weak were just being contrasted. Some need more rules than others to feel like they know God. Some don't. But the idea is that both are trying to be good with God in their own way.
"Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind."
That's what bothers me about pastors relying on commentaries and analysis outside of their own grasp of the Bible: it seems possible that all this Bible study could be similar to a chain of laboratory research that has detrimental flaws in some of the steps. That's not to say commentaries aren't important. No, from what I know, they save a lot of time and provide important insight to better informed Christians like the sermons do for lesser informed Christians like me. They are important.
But the Bible is the Living Word. It's the Word of God. If you're a Christian, you supposedly believe that, because if you don't, then you don't believe what John said, and if you don't believe what John said, then how do you believe the rest of the Bible is true and if you don't believe the rest of the Bible is true, how do you believe ANY of the Bible is true?
And John said in chapter 1:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
Then again, maybe I've misread and misunderstood that too.
Probably.
But God loves us. God loves us individually and wholly. God wants a relationship with us. God wants us to worship Him and what that means is God wants us to live in the wholeness and spiritual completeness that is only in Him which, when we really begin to understand what that means, we have no choice but to talk about His awesomeness to those around us. Right? In a nutshell?
And so, the Word is God. And here is the Word communicating to us. Like, today, a random Tuesday (my favorite of the random days), God suggested I read before bed. Read what? Romans 14. So I did. I read it with an open heart and open mind, ready for God to say something to my soul. And He did. He provided me with a passage that says, "Live for Me. That's all I want. Don't worry about the p's and q's about it. Just Me. I'm the only thing that matters." And if you read this blog, or even my other blog sometimes, you'll know that I feel like a crap Christian. I don't fit in. And God pulled me aside before I went to sleep tonight, on a night when I read an email from a church telling its members (and other subscribers) to pray for a girl because since she can't stand church, she obviously hasn't found Jesus and we (the subscribers) should be worried about that. So God gave me Romans 14. And every day, the words on those pages are the same. They don't change. But every day, every time God shows them to us, they're different. They're alive.
If God is God, then He can get His word to say anything He wants it to.
And the stuff in the side bar?
It just kind of kills it. Yes, we should know the historical context. We should know what they were talking about and use that to help us interpret the text. Yes.
But we should also just read it sometimes. Just let it affect us. Just let God make the Living Word come alive for us and for us alone. Let God talk through the Word.
Reading the Bible isn't like a textbook for exactly that reason- it's a book you have to read with your heart, not just with your mind.
And yes, it's a risky endeavor because what if you read something a certain way and it's not a godly interpretation? Well, then like they say, it's only from God if it fits His message. You do have to know the message to determine the difference. So you have to do both.
But, when I read a "scholar's" interpretation that just rubs me as being blatantly self-righteous, I'm going to side with my heart.
*shrugs*
Monday, April 12, 2010
On behavior modification, seeking guidance and finding love...
I never understood the purpose of altering swear words to make them more "G-rated". What is the bad part of the bad word? Is it the combination of letters itself or is it the sentiment behind it? Or both?
I think it's the sentiment. A combination of letters is hardly a threat to anybody's social well-being. The intention behind them though, behind any words for that matter, can be extremely violating.
Saying things like "fudge" or whatever else people say (I'm a swearer, not a fudger), to me is the equivalent of changing your behavior to avoid sin without actually making it an endeavor to become closer to God.
Anybody can modify their behavior. Sure, some behaviors are harder to correct, but that's why we side-step those conveniently and focus on the easier stuff we can change moderately successfully.
When I dated the Christian guy who raped my soul (these days, that's what we're calling what he did), his focus was on my swearing. Admittedly, I swear like a sailor. No, no, not like a sailor. More like a sailor who has stubbed his toe, hopped around for a while and knocked over the 7,000 piece 3-D boat puzzle he had been working on for the past two years. I swear like that guy. And I don't see a problem with it. Obviously, I tone it down when I'm around kids and whatnot, even though I don't see the point in doing that either since they'll grow up to swear like me eventually anyway. I also avoid swearing in this blog because I think it might detract from the message I'm trying to convey.
There is a time and a place for everything.
But when I refrain from swearing, I do it out of courtesy, not because I think it's a sin and God frowns upon four letter words.
God sees my heart. And that's what I want to change. I want my heart to be good. And the only way that can happen is if I lean into God, if I ask God to make my heart good.
The stereotypical behavior modification-oriented Christians do have one thing right: we're all sinners. We're broken sinners who idolize things, have sex with people we aren't married to, and reject God every chance we get. Great. But where they lose me is when they decide we can fix all this on our own. If that's not pride, I don't know what pride is.
What is Christian about swear jars and self-deprivation? I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think Jesus deprived himself of anything just to be good with God. Somehow, I think He was good with God and everything else just sort of fell into place.
But hey, I wasn't there. Maybe after Jesus turned the water to wine, he went home and dropped a few silver coins into his wine jar.
Right?
It could happen?
Or, since He used His God powers to turn the water to wine, God was in on it all along.
See, if God is in every action, every reaction, everything, then you're not living alone anymore. You're not deciding alone anymore. You have a guide, which I guess they call the Holy Spirit, but I still call Him God because I don't know enough about the Holy Spirit. Whichever of the Trinity He is (or it is?), if He's there and you don't reject Him, then you'll know which choice is the more godly of the ones you face.
This week, I faced a lot of ungodly options. A lot. More than usual. And being that I'm still broken, and I think I'm on the fence, teetering toward the side where I just give up, where I let myself be broken and decide there is nobody in the world for me because I have been through too much, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Basically, I told God, "I need to heal, and doing this will heal me." I convinced myself that the ungodly behaviors would somehow repair the damage created by other ungodly behaviors.
And they would. They would really repair that particular damage. I am absolutely certain. The behaviors would allow me to overcome certain fears and trust issues and open a door to hope for the future. But, in their wake, the behaviors would leave other damage. And then what? What would repair the new damage?
I decided I was a better healer than God. I decided I knew what was best for me more than God. I decided. I decided alone, without God.
But the funny thing I've learned over this past while since starting to figure out my relationship with God is that when you decide things alone, without God, He's actually still there. And then when you fall, He's actually more there than He was before because you're far more open to listening.
"God, I'm going this way. Bye," and you start walking a path on your own and when you get to a dark dead end and you have nowhere else to go, there He is, with some sort of flashlight.
But sometimes, we have to learn the hard way. Well, often. Sometimes, we can be gently guided and other times, we have to be smacked down so we finally ask for help. And when you factor behavior modification into the equation, most of the time, it'll lead to the latter- the smack down. Because we can't do it on our own. We can't overcome our worst sins on our own merit. If we could, we'd have done it a long time ago.
And wouldn't we be perfect by now?
So yeah, we shouldn't deliberately sin or anything. It's not a free pass. But our focus shouldn't be on the behaviors themselves but on why we do them. Trying to eliminate the behaviors without assessing our need for them and reasons for continuing in them just creates a smoke screen blocking the real issues.
And on the other side of the issue, while talking about the things that are hard to overcome with others who have faced them may help us to sort them out, I've found that when you get into really hard issues, Christians tend to shut down. Maybe that's a generalization. Maybe the limited number of Christians I've been exposed to lack the compassion and courage to be true friends. After all, would you risk your salvation to talk somebody off a ledge they walked onto on their own?
I think that might be what Tim Keller means when he says the opposite of love isn't hate but fear.
How defective is a person who can't even listen without being afraid of taking it badly and instead of providing guidance, fears falling off the tracks themselves, just through inadvertent suggestion?
You don't get that up here. It's funny how in the land of atheism and supposed Godlessness, the support systems are far more boundary-less. If I was really in trouble, I could easily ask anybody I've ever met for help and right now, as I write this, I honestly think any one of them would help, even if I haven't talked to them in years (as was the case this week). I think none of the people in my past about whom I could say that are Christian. And sure, that's a judgment, but it's also a major part of why Christianity is so dead here. It's why people say, "I'd rather be a good person just because I want to do right by people and not because some god created rules to make me nice."
The difference is tangible and heartbreaking.
Over the past year or so, as I've been trying to follow advice of the few Christians I know, I have been trying to talk to Christians about my faith more, and really, Christian love is much different than atheist love. Christian love is hesitant, temporary and temporal. Christian love is "serving". It's almost as if you can feel that they're using you and your afflictions to serve. It's among the most uncaring gestures I think I've ever faced, simply because of its manipulative and indifferent nature. False caring. It's as though my needs become a casualty in their quest for God, as backward as that sounds.
Atheist love, on the other hand, as I've experienced it, stems from a place of empathy. It's a place where the atheist has realized we're in this together and crushing each other only makes it worse. It's where their own sorrows and uncertainties and traumas turn to positives in the absence of a redemptive God. It's where the idea of the crutch comes in. Without the God crutch, you have to pick yourself up, learn to forgive and forget, learn to build your support system, learn to love and learn to cope on your own. And in doing so, you quickly become aware of how difficult it is, and how those around you who have lived through far worse traumas than you have are real survivors. And you admire them for it. And you love them through it.
That's the love I'm used to. It's not perfect. No. It's riddled with defense mechanisms and brokenness too, but it tries so hard to be genuine and enduring. All these years in my not fitting in with anybody, I've taken for granted how much support I've had. And I think it's one of the reasons that church is so hard for me. The Christians are all, "You're meant to be in community," but I am in community. I have the most authentic community of anybody I know. It's part of the reason I have a hard time sometimes- my community always tells it like it is. They always rebuke me when I need rebuke but back off when they see I've stopped listening until I fall down again and then they're right there beside me again, walking with me in my mistakes. As nice as that sounds, it's actually really difficult. It's difficult to be called out all the time and to face reality constantly also. It's most difficult when you need rebuking of so many different things all at the same time. It's difficult because of the detrimental pull pride has on our malleability.
I'm not used to the kind of love that is selective depending on the fragility of the other party. Like, if my problem is with sex and I take men's advice far more readily than women's (I'm wired that way on account of growing up with a single dad), I should be able to talk about it with a guy. There should be at least one guy in the world who is strong enough to talk about sex with a woman without being tempted or end up freaking out at the risk of temptation. I mean, really, grow up. But I do have that here. I have that in the atheist guys I know. I really can talk to them about anything and it doesn't turn into a scandal or taboo breach. It's just helpful conversation. Inspiring conversation. And I get the rebuke and guidance I need, and it's not from the Christian community.
That's the thing- you can actually get Christian guidance from non-Christians. You know why? Because Christianity isn't a secret. It's not some exclusive club that you only know the details of once you're inside. Non-Christians can actually come up with some very, very insightful questions because for them, the Jesus thing is black and white, which is part of the reason they haven't grasped it yet. And when you're faced with temptation, Christianity can become grey. But it's not grey. It really is black and white.
Do you believe in Jesus? Do you believe the words in the Bible are true? Do you believe that Jesus is God? Do you believe that the reason God asks certain things of you is because they are for your benefit? What do you stand to gain through all this deprivation? Do you trust God?
What, as a Christian, is your stance on this particular topic? How do you feel your actions reflect that? If they don't reflect that, why are you pursuing them anyway? Which is more important to you: what God wants for you or what you want for you?
And when an atheist/agnostic asks you tough questions about your faith, sometimes (not all the time) the reason isn't altruism or an act of guidance pointing you towards God, but an effort to show you that by being a Christian, you bring unnecessary suffering into your life. You deprive yourself of things for a God they don't understand. And a lot of the time, all they know of Christianity is hypocrisy. And here they are, asking you the hard questions, getting you to think about where you stand with the Almighty God.
Where do you stand?
Because if you don't ask yourself that, and you start giving answers to an atheist that reflect your pride, you just turned that atheist off God even more. It's as if you're in a boat with the atheist and you just shot the bottom out because you don't have the courage to face your shortcomings.
And when you're humble, and you answer each of those questions with humility while falling to your proverbial knees pleading for God's mercy which has been gifted to you beyond your comprehension, that's where the community finds you.
I know I'm overwhelming sometimes. I'm a passionate person and I'll dive head first into trouble out of nowhere. And I'll get advice to get me out of it and within hours, find myself in an even worse situation. I know. I know I walk out onto a lot of ledges. I fall off a lot of wagons. I do. But so do you. And it's ok. It's ok but at the same time, don't watch me do it and avoid the conversation because it's tedious. And don't hear my words and hide your own in pride. Don't pretend to love me. Don't pretend that God doesn't see this "serving" business is a load of shit.
Don't use me to serve God. Love me. Loving me serves God. But really love me. Or at least spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what that means.
I don't expect people to stop me from my own stupidity. I really don't. If I choose to deviate into terrible territory, that's my problem. But the past little while, I had been so clear with so many people, Christians, agnostics and atheists, and the ones who tried to set me straight are the ones who are either the least certain of their faith or the most certain they have none at all. And really, when you teach me about what it means to be Christian and paint yourself as an elder to me in the absence of Christian structure in my life, you paint yourself as an example, and this week, that example was not caring, loving or walking with me at all.
Do you really think God sees serving as saving yourself?
This week, I got the best compliment a girl can ever get from my friend Erin (I hope she doesn't mind that I kept it :D) after a discussion about God things:
"I don't know why you think you aren't a good Christian. You are the most helpful person I know when it comes to this sort of thing."
It made my day. Or week really. And I would give anything to be able to help her when she needs help and to somehow know when to be around, you know? She lives far away and to just accidentally be online when she's online the minute she needs help... Well, that's something I wish for. I wish that if she needs somebody and reaches out, somebody would be there to reach back. I wish that for everybody around me, really, and I've wished that since long before I was Christian. That's the love I'm used to. It's not serving. I'm not giving something anybody is lacking. I'm giving what I'm lacking. I'm giving what I need because we all need it. And I don't think that's the kind of community I've found in church. It's the kind of community that turns people away from church.
And honestly, from my perspective, it's a more Christian kind of love. It's the way Christian love should be.
No strings attached.
No fear.
Just love.
Just Jesus.
I think it's the sentiment. A combination of letters is hardly a threat to anybody's social well-being. The intention behind them though, behind any words for that matter, can be extremely violating.
Saying things like "fudge" or whatever else people say (I'm a swearer, not a fudger), to me is the equivalent of changing your behavior to avoid sin without actually making it an endeavor to become closer to God.
Anybody can modify their behavior. Sure, some behaviors are harder to correct, but that's why we side-step those conveniently and focus on the easier stuff we can change moderately successfully.
When I dated the Christian guy who raped my soul (these days, that's what we're calling what he did), his focus was on my swearing. Admittedly, I swear like a sailor. No, no, not like a sailor. More like a sailor who has stubbed his toe, hopped around for a while and knocked over the 7,000 piece 3-D boat puzzle he had been working on for the past two years. I swear like that guy. And I don't see a problem with it. Obviously, I tone it down when I'm around kids and whatnot, even though I don't see the point in doing that either since they'll grow up to swear like me eventually anyway. I also avoid swearing in this blog because I think it might detract from the message I'm trying to convey.
There is a time and a place for everything.
But when I refrain from swearing, I do it out of courtesy, not because I think it's a sin and God frowns upon four letter words.
God sees my heart. And that's what I want to change. I want my heart to be good. And the only way that can happen is if I lean into God, if I ask God to make my heart good.
The stereotypical behavior modification-oriented Christians do have one thing right: we're all sinners. We're broken sinners who idolize things, have sex with people we aren't married to, and reject God every chance we get. Great. But where they lose me is when they decide we can fix all this on our own. If that's not pride, I don't know what pride is.
What is Christian about swear jars and self-deprivation? I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think Jesus deprived himself of anything just to be good with God. Somehow, I think He was good with God and everything else just sort of fell into place.
But hey, I wasn't there. Maybe after Jesus turned the water to wine, he went home and dropped a few silver coins into his wine jar.
Right?
It could happen?
Or, since He used His God powers to turn the water to wine, God was in on it all along.
See, if God is in every action, every reaction, everything, then you're not living alone anymore. You're not deciding alone anymore. You have a guide, which I guess they call the Holy Spirit, but I still call Him God because I don't know enough about the Holy Spirit. Whichever of the Trinity He is (or it is?), if He's there and you don't reject Him, then you'll know which choice is the more godly of the ones you face.
This week, I faced a lot of ungodly options. A lot. More than usual. And being that I'm still broken, and I think I'm on the fence, teetering toward the side where I just give up, where I let myself be broken and decide there is nobody in the world for me because I have been through too much, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Basically, I told God, "I need to heal, and doing this will heal me." I convinced myself that the ungodly behaviors would somehow repair the damage created by other ungodly behaviors.
And they would. They would really repair that particular damage. I am absolutely certain. The behaviors would allow me to overcome certain fears and trust issues and open a door to hope for the future. But, in their wake, the behaviors would leave other damage. And then what? What would repair the new damage?
I decided I was a better healer than God. I decided I knew what was best for me more than God. I decided. I decided alone, without God.
But the funny thing I've learned over this past while since starting to figure out my relationship with God is that when you decide things alone, without God, He's actually still there. And then when you fall, He's actually more there than He was before because you're far more open to listening.
"God, I'm going this way. Bye," and you start walking a path on your own and when you get to a dark dead end and you have nowhere else to go, there He is, with some sort of flashlight.
But sometimes, we have to learn the hard way. Well, often. Sometimes, we can be gently guided and other times, we have to be smacked down so we finally ask for help. And when you factor behavior modification into the equation, most of the time, it'll lead to the latter- the smack down. Because we can't do it on our own. We can't overcome our worst sins on our own merit. If we could, we'd have done it a long time ago.
And wouldn't we be perfect by now?
So yeah, we shouldn't deliberately sin or anything. It's not a free pass. But our focus shouldn't be on the behaviors themselves but on why we do them. Trying to eliminate the behaviors without assessing our need for them and reasons for continuing in them just creates a smoke screen blocking the real issues.
And on the other side of the issue, while talking about the things that are hard to overcome with others who have faced them may help us to sort them out, I've found that when you get into really hard issues, Christians tend to shut down. Maybe that's a generalization. Maybe the limited number of Christians I've been exposed to lack the compassion and courage to be true friends. After all, would you risk your salvation to talk somebody off a ledge they walked onto on their own?
I think that might be what Tim Keller means when he says the opposite of love isn't hate but fear.
How defective is a person who can't even listen without being afraid of taking it badly and instead of providing guidance, fears falling off the tracks themselves, just through inadvertent suggestion?
You don't get that up here. It's funny how in the land of atheism and supposed Godlessness, the support systems are far more boundary-less. If I was really in trouble, I could easily ask anybody I've ever met for help and right now, as I write this, I honestly think any one of them would help, even if I haven't talked to them in years (as was the case this week). I think none of the people in my past about whom I could say that are Christian. And sure, that's a judgment, but it's also a major part of why Christianity is so dead here. It's why people say, "I'd rather be a good person just because I want to do right by people and not because some god created rules to make me nice."
The difference is tangible and heartbreaking.
Over the past year or so, as I've been trying to follow advice of the few Christians I know, I have been trying to talk to Christians about my faith more, and really, Christian love is much different than atheist love. Christian love is hesitant, temporary and temporal. Christian love is "serving". It's almost as if you can feel that they're using you and your afflictions to serve. It's among the most uncaring gestures I think I've ever faced, simply because of its manipulative and indifferent nature. False caring. It's as though my needs become a casualty in their quest for God, as backward as that sounds.
Atheist love, on the other hand, as I've experienced it, stems from a place of empathy. It's a place where the atheist has realized we're in this together and crushing each other only makes it worse. It's where their own sorrows and uncertainties and traumas turn to positives in the absence of a redemptive God. It's where the idea of the crutch comes in. Without the God crutch, you have to pick yourself up, learn to forgive and forget, learn to build your support system, learn to love and learn to cope on your own. And in doing so, you quickly become aware of how difficult it is, and how those around you who have lived through far worse traumas than you have are real survivors. And you admire them for it. And you love them through it.
That's the love I'm used to. It's not perfect. No. It's riddled with defense mechanisms and brokenness too, but it tries so hard to be genuine and enduring. All these years in my not fitting in with anybody, I've taken for granted how much support I've had. And I think it's one of the reasons that church is so hard for me. The Christians are all, "You're meant to be in community," but I am in community. I have the most authentic community of anybody I know. It's part of the reason I have a hard time sometimes- my community always tells it like it is. They always rebuke me when I need rebuke but back off when they see I've stopped listening until I fall down again and then they're right there beside me again, walking with me in my mistakes. As nice as that sounds, it's actually really difficult. It's difficult to be called out all the time and to face reality constantly also. It's most difficult when you need rebuking of so many different things all at the same time. It's difficult because of the detrimental pull pride has on our malleability.
I'm not used to the kind of love that is selective depending on the fragility of the other party. Like, if my problem is with sex and I take men's advice far more readily than women's (I'm wired that way on account of growing up with a single dad), I should be able to talk about it with a guy. There should be at least one guy in the world who is strong enough to talk about sex with a woman without being tempted or end up freaking out at the risk of temptation. I mean, really, grow up. But I do have that here. I have that in the atheist guys I know. I really can talk to them about anything and it doesn't turn into a scandal or taboo breach. It's just helpful conversation. Inspiring conversation. And I get the rebuke and guidance I need, and it's not from the Christian community.
That's the thing- you can actually get Christian guidance from non-Christians. You know why? Because Christianity isn't a secret. It's not some exclusive club that you only know the details of once you're inside. Non-Christians can actually come up with some very, very insightful questions because for them, the Jesus thing is black and white, which is part of the reason they haven't grasped it yet. And when you're faced with temptation, Christianity can become grey. But it's not grey. It really is black and white.
Do you believe in Jesus? Do you believe the words in the Bible are true? Do you believe that Jesus is God? Do you believe that the reason God asks certain things of you is because they are for your benefit? What do you stand to gain through all this deprivation? Do you trust God?
What, as a Christian, is your stance on this particular topic? How do you feel your actions reflect that? If they don't reflect that, why are you pursuing them anyway? Which is more important to you: what God wants for you or what you want for you?
And when an atheist/agnostic asks you tough questions about your faith, sometimes (not all the time) the reason isn't altruism or an act of guidance pointing you towards God, but an effort to show you that by being a Christian, you bring unnecessary suffering into your life. You deprive yourself of things for a God they don't understand. And a lot of the time, all they know of Christianity is hypocrisy. And here they are, asking you the hard questions, getting you to think about where you stand with the Almighty God.
Where do you stand?
Because if you don't ask yourself that, and you start giving answers to an atheist that reflect your pride, you just turned that atheist off God even more. It's as if you're in a boat with the atheist and you just shot the bottom out because you don't have the courage to face your shortcomings.
And when you're humble, and you answer each of those questions with humility while falling to your proverbial knees pleading for God's mercy which has been gifted to you beyond your comprehension, that's where the community finds you.
I know I'm overwhelming sometimes. I'm a passionate person and I'll dive head first into trouble out of nowhere. And I'll get advice to get me out of it and within hours, find myself in an even worse situation. I know. I know I walk out onto a lot of ledges. I fall off a lot of wagons. I do. But so do you. And it's ok. It's ok but at the same time, don't watch me do it and avoid the conversation because it's tedious. And don't hear my words and hide your own in pride. Don't pretend to love me. Don't pretend that God doesn't see this "serving" business is a load of shit.
Don't use me to serve God. Love me. Loving me serves God. But really love me. Or at least spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what that means.
I don't expect people to stop me from my own stupidity. I really don't. If I choose to deviate into terrible territory, that's my problem. But the past little while, I had been so clear with so many people, Christians, agnostics and atheists, and the ones who tried to set me straight are the ones who are either the least certain of their faith or the most certain they have none at all. And really, when you teach me about what it means to be Christian and paint yourself as an elder to me in the absence of Christian structure in my life, you paint yourself as an example, and this week, that example was not caring, loving or walking with me at all.
Do you really think God sees serving as saving yourself?
This week, I got the best compliment a girl can ever get from my friend Erin (I hope she doesn't mind that I kept it :D) after a discussion about God things:
"I don't know why you think you aren't a good Christian. You are the most helpful person I know when it comes to this sort of thing."
It made my day. Or week really. And I would give anything to be able to help her when she needs help and to somehow know when to be around, you know? She lives far away and to just accidentally be online when she's online the minute she needs help... Well, that's something I wish for. I wish that if she needs somebody and reaches out, somebody would be there to reach back. I wish that for everybody around me, really, and I've wished that since long before I was Christian. That's the love I'm used to. It's not serving. I'm not giving something anybody is lacking. I'm giving what I'm lacking. I'm giving what I need because we all need it. And I don't think that's the kind of community I've found in church. It's the kind of community that turns people away from church.
And honestly, from my perspective, it's a more Christian kind of love. It's the way Christian love should be.
No strings attached.
No fear.
Just love.
Just Jesus.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
On Late Night Praythings...
Do you ever really want to help somebody but find yourself unable to for whatever reason? And then somebody else needs help and you know they need help and you know you can help, but you don't offer because you don't think you'll actually help? You end up sitting silently carrying burdens without actually lifting the load off anybody. And you wonder why you're here, why you know about these things when you don't have the skills or experience or geographical location to be of any use. And you ask the universe questions and it doesn't reply. And you wonder if these moments of helpless isolation are exactly the moments God intends for you to use in prayer. And you question your faith because it wasn't the first thought that came to you before. And then you might thank God for loving you anyway, even if you suck at everything and ask if He could maybe fill in the gaps where you come up short. And He does. And the next time you find yourself in helpless isolation again, you go through the exact same process. Every time. And never learn.
A pastor I adore but whose sermons weren't online till recently (yey) says life in faith is a series of cycles of feelings of utter abandonment followed by the realization you were never abandoned, and through these repeated cycles, the faith slowly grows, but it's as though sometimes we need the absence of God to feel God's presence. Which, some claim, is why we suffer. Those moments when we're crushed and have nothing left to give are the moments we look up and start asking questions. Or screaming questions. Or obscenities. The point is, in those moments, we dialog in some way, and the tiny shred of hope we have in those moments is what God grows from. A fading spark deep in our soul that is fanned just enough for us to keep going until we finally look up and expect dialog in return and the spark becomes a flame, bright and flashy but easily extinguished into soft embers once again waiting for just the right moment, just the right breath of oxygen to reignite them.
That same cycle is counterproductive in a Christian culture where failure and doubt is frowned upon. Reading the articles about the pope and the sex scandals and people keep saying, "Why would I confess to a priest when I'm not sure he's less of a sinner than I am?" I can't imagine somebody going through life thinking they sin less than the next guy. It's not for not sinning, but for living in complete denial- which, as we hear and read in the media, is exactly the case in the Catholic church. And it's that denial that makes people so angry. Don't hide your mistakes; don't sweep things that are this horrible under the rug. Own your evil.
I love this quote:
Most of our faults are more pardonable than the means we use to conceal them.
- François, Duc de La Rochefoucauld
I would hate to have to write that name out all the time. Especially with a plume. :D
But it's true. How are people supposed to grow in faith and in community when they're not allowed to err or worse, when they're not allowed to hurt because of the sins of others?
You can't.
I've found that out the hard way more than a few times. When I was lying on my bathroom floor this past weekend in complete pain and no fewer than six people (conservative estimate) later scolded me for not getting help, it makes it obvious how in a community, when one is hurt, the whole community hurts.
Imagine if they were there as I lay there and just shut the door?
It goes both ways though. I shut the door and don't let people help me. But on the other hand, prayer has helped me there too. Prayers for me are of infinite help with minimal effort. It's not the same level of effort as getting into a car and driving an hour out of the city to come make sure I'm ok. It's a simple sentence or two from the heart. And in the end, as I work out my issues with self-worth, prayer becomes a stepping stone. It's really an amazing thing that God gave us something so simple and yet, so powerful.
I can be here at 1:40AM and pray for my mommy friends to be sleeping deeply and to be rested in the morning. I can pray that they get a break long enough to rejuvenate their soul for a bit. I can pray that the small things that go wrong go a little more unnoticed than usual. I can pray for them to wake with energy. And patience. And a smile in their heart for no apparent reason.
When I do that, I sleep better because I know the world and the people I love are watched over by a great God who loves them more than I do.
And if they wake up tomorrow and have the worst day they've had in a long time, they might feel abandoned, but I know God's just waiting for them to look up again.
It's really an amazing thing that God gave us something so simple and yet, so powerful. And kind of sad that it always seems to end up last on our list of solutions.
A pastor I adore but whose sermons weren't online till recently (yey) says life in faith is a series of cycles of feelings of utter abandonment followed by the realization you were never abandoned, and through these repeated cycles, the faith slowly grows, but it's as though sometimes we need the absence of God to feel God's presence. Which, some claim, is why we suffer. Those moments when we're crushed and have nothing left to give are the moments we look up and start asking questions. Or screaming questions. Or obscenities. The point is, in those moments, we dialog in some way, and the tiny shred of hope we have in those moments is what God grows from. A fading spark deep in our soul that is fanned just enough for us to keep going until we finally look up and expect dialog in return and the spark becomes a flame, bright and flashy but easily extinguished into soft embers once again waiting for just the right moment, just the right breath of oxygen to reignite them.
That same cycle is counterproductive in a Christian culture where failure and doubt is frowned upon. Reading the articles about the pope and the sex scandals and people keep saying, "Why would I confess to a priest when I'm not sure he's less of a sinner than I am?" I can't imagine somebody going through life thinking they sin less than the next guy. It's not for not sinning, but for living in complete denial- which, as we hear and read in the media, is exactly the case in the Catholic church. And it's that denial that makes people so angry. Don't hide your mistakes; don't sweep things that are this horrible under the rug. Own your evil.
I love this quote:
Most of our faults are more pardonable than the means we use to conceal them.
- François, Duc de La Rochefoucauld
I would hate to have to write that name out all the time. Especially with a plume. :D
But it's true. How are people supposed to grow in faith and in community when they're not allowed to err or worse, when they're not allowed to hurt because of the sins of others?
You can't.
I've found that out the hard way more than a few times. When I was lying on my bathroom floor this past weekend in complete pain and no fewer than six people (conservative estimate) later scolded me for not getting help, it makes it obvious how in a community, when one is hurt, the whole community hurts.
Imagine if they were there as I lay there and just shut the door?
It goes both ways though. I shut the door and don't let people help me. But on the other hand, prayer has helped me there too. Prayers for me are of infinite help with minimal effort. It's not the same level of effort as getting into a car and driving an hour out of the city to come make sure I'm ok. It's a simple sentence or two from the heart. And in the end, as I work out my issues with self-worth, prayer becomes a stepping stone. It's really an amazing thing that God gave us something so simple and yet, so powerful.
I can be here at 1:40AM and pray for my mommy friends to be sleeping deeply and to be rested in the morning. I can pray that they get a break long enough to rejuvenate their soul for a bit. I can pray that the small things that go wrong go a little more unnoticed than usual. I can pray for them to wake with energy. And patience. And a smile in their heart for no apparent reason.
When I do that, I sleep better because I know the world and the people I love are watched over by a great God who loves them more than I do.
And if they wake up tomorrow and have the worst day they've had in a long time, they might feel abandoned, but I know God's just waiting for them to look up again.
It's really an amazing thing that God gave us something so simple and yet, so powerful. And kind of sad that it always seems to end up last on our list of solutions.
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